


To Guard a Life

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from the pilot.  Blair meets Jim for the first time.  How will the Sentinel take the news about his status and Blair?  Will he accept Blair as his partner, or deny it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Guard a Life

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #4

Blair pulled the fax out of his box and headed back to his room, only lifting the paper to read when the door was closed behind him. If Laura was right…

His gaze sped over the medical chart, narrowing at some of the doctor's comments, widening at the information listed. "Yes!"

Dropping the paper, he executed a Tomani celebration dance, ending it with a sharp clap and bowing to an imaginary audience. Still grinning, he slid into a chair and grabbed the phone, punching out a number quickly.

"Hi, Laura," he said happily when it was answered. "Hey, listen, about this fax, are you sure about this?"

His smile faded into an intense focus, and he pressed the phone tight to his ear, absently reaching over to turn down his music. Over the faint hum that signified the phone's usual poor connection – he'd lost count of the times he'd called the university's repair line and complained – the woman's words wavered in and out, but the message was clear.

Blair took a breath, then swallowed. "All right. Thanks, Laura. Thanks a lot. And, uh, what room is he in, 204? Right. Thanks again. I'll be right over."

He placed the phone in the cradle, then stared unseeingly across his office, the low drums of the Polynesian tribes echoing in his mind.

 _A sentinel. That's what he is, what he has to be. A sentinel. Ohmygod_.

The images that had been vivid in his dreams the last few nights surfaced again, and he frowned impatiently. Why couldn't he get away from that damned black panther running through the jungle? Never mind that black panthers didn't have any connection to his own life or his living of it – he'd done all the research when it started showing up. It wasn't even his own animal totem. He shrugged the thoughts aside and focused on the moment, wonder growing strong in him again, buzzing with excitement.

It was one thing to research histories of tribes, to listen to myths and legends of sentinels around the tribal campfire, to interview shamans and older people in the hopes of finding a kernel here, a nugget there that he could use to add to his understanding of what used to be common knowledge. All that study and analysis had only made sentinels real in the past, not in the present, and he'd built castles of theory based on folklore and old tales.

He'd never really expected to find a living sentinel in today's world. Hoped, yes, daydreamed, fantasized, but expected? Never.

Even the case histories he'd collected on people with one or two or at most three heightened senses hadn't made the hair on the back of his neck crawl the way it was now. A real, live sentinel.

 _What'm I going to say to him?_ He glanced at his watch and swallowed again. _Nothing at all if I don't get to the hospital in time to meet him_.

_Man, oh, man, a sentinel!_

Awe and nervousness surged into excitement, and he pushed back his chair, bouncing to his feet. "Wow, man!" He clasped his fists above his head, dancing a little. "Yes, yes, yes!" Fantasies raced through his head, all the ideas that were slowly forming into his dissertation ricocheting through folklore images of sentinels with wild bursts of color. Spinning, he yanked the door open and hurled himself through the portal, the music thrumming behind him as the door slammed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair stood at the bottom of the hospital steps and stared up at the entrance. _Thank God he chose the university hospital instead of Cascade General. I'd never've heard of him if he'd gone there_.

He swallowed and headed up the steps, two at a time, wiping his palms on his jeans as the glass doors slid open at his approach. He didn't turn to look into the hedge that sided the porch – if he really had seen that fluid shadow moments earlier, he didn't want it confirmed. _Besides_ , he thought as he stepped through the doors, _why would that damned panther be showing up here? After all, this is Cascade, not some tribal land; it has no link here, and certainly not to me_! He squelched the thoughts and started up the inside flight of stairs.

By the time he stood in the lobby on the second floor, his stomach was starting to feel queasy, and he could feel the tension cording his shoulders, creeping down his back. But he was still riding the wave of excitement that had forced him to race across campus, and hardly noticed the discomfort.

He paused at the desk, where Laura wordlessly handed him a doctor's file and jerked her head at the room behind her, in which he could glimpse clothing and other medical paraphernalia. He stepped around the desk with all the panache he could muster and strode confidently into the room. Once out of sight of the desk, he paused, glancing at the shelves and racks, then chose a lab coat and shrugged it on, scanning the nametag upside down. He took a moment to glance at himself in the mirror, smoothing his hair into a ponytail and digging out a clasp from his pocket, then turned and headed out of the room, walking quickly down the hall toward room 204 without glancing at Laura.

Blair turned a corner and counted himself lucky that he saw a doctor exit 204 and head in the opposite direction, frowning over the papers he held.

The anthropologist stopped outside the door and drew a deep breath. He focused inward, calming and centering himself, locking the wild excitement that still arched through him into a disciplined stream he could use, then slid into the room.

There was a breath-holding moment while he got his first look at the sentinel. Oddly enough, he thought later, he wasn't disappointed. Reality, after all, could hardly match all the daydreams, fantasies, theories, folktales, myths, legends, etc. that he'd built his images of sentinels from. But all he felt as his eyes met those of the man who stood as he entered was anticipation. And the sense of standing in the eye of the storm, calm before the wind hit.

The man was taller than Blair, dark-haired and blue-eyed, and bitterly alone, despite the feline shadow that lurked at his feet. _Huh_ , Blair thought absently, _so the panther's his_. He didn't have time to pursue the thought as he examined the officer.

Jim Ellison radiated lines, and rules, and boxes, and Blair almost frowned. A sentinel with a closed mind… not good. Not good at all. Still, he was here, asking questions. That stood for something. He took a breath and plunged in.

"Detective Ellison, I'm Doctor McCay."

Ellison's gaze flicked to his nametag, then back to his face. "Name tag says McCoy."

 _Good_ , thought Blair briefly as he blinked in surprise. _He can still think, even over his worry. That's good_.

"Hmm, yeah," he replied, sliding into the mode of graduate bullshit without really thinking about it, "but the correct Gaelic pronunciation of my family name is McCay."

The sentinel looked at him. "Got the results?"

Blair tried not to bounce. "Of?"

"The tests."

Energy surged through Blair as he imagined what the scientific world would make of a sentinel. Nuh-uh, no way, at all!

"Forget the tests, you don't need medicine, you need information," he said quickly, letting himself ride the nervous energy pounding through him. Dimly, he wondered if the man could hear his heartbeat.

Annoyance and frustration vied for Ellison's expression. "What are you, an intern? Go-Go get the doctor for me, will you please?"

It was less of a request than a frustrated demand, and Blair reacted to the fear behind it. "Wait-wait a second, just hear me out here," he said quickly, holding up his hands to grab some space for them both. "Loud noises that shouldn't be loud, smells that no one else can smell, weird visuals, tastes off the map, right?"

"That's all in my chart," said Ellison woodenly.

"But I bet I can add one more thing – hyperactive tactile response."

The man blinked at him, the tension caught at the edge. "What."

It wasn't a question, but Blair ignored the tone, searching for a non-academic way of saying it. "Extra-sensory touchy-feely lately?"

Ellison's face darkened. "Hey, man, that's none of your business. And who the hell are you anyway?"

"Hey, I'm no one," Blair said forcefully, handing the detective his own card. "But this man, he is. The only one who can truly help you." _Watch it, Blair, you're starting to sound like a commercial_. "You're too far ahead of the curve for this techno-crap. You're a cop – see the man!"

He grabbed the door and slipped out just as the doctor he'd seen before stepped inside. Blair saw the flare of surprise in the man's eyes, but didn't stay to answer it, closing the door behind him and heading off down the hall at a quick trot.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

He delivered the lab jacket back to Laura without incident, and promised her dinner sometime that week, then made his way out of the hospital, hunching his shoulders against the cool wave of air beginning to stream across campus as the midmorning sky was obscured by clouds. Even chilled, though, he slowed to a thoughtful pace as he crossed the campus back to his office, forcing the fierce enthusiasm down so he could think.

So that was Jim Ellison. A police officer and sentinel in one. Not surprising, really – a sentinel would probably turn to professions where he (she?) could "serve and protect," and the criminal justice system would certainly provide that kind of haven. That and the military.

But how to handle this? The man was scared, that was obvious. And who wouldn't be, waking up to sentinel abilities in this day and age? Without a partner to back him up?

He turned the corner to cross the mall, blinking as a spatter of raindrops caught him under a tree. Without a partner. That was the crux of the situation, and Blair stopped, placing one hand on a lower tree branch and staring blankly at a nearby bench.

_What 'm I thinking? Me, be his partner?_

A thrill of eagerness slid through him, and he grinned. This would make his dissertation, and his career. He could really show those old fogies in his department that his thesis was sound. And the chance to study a real, living sentinel – wow! Think what he could learn!

And he could help Ellison, too. With all the information he'd gathered about sentinels in so many cultures, there was a lot of it he could use to help the man adjust to his heightened senses, a lot he could offer. This would work! It had to!

Another spray of raindrops hit him, and he shook his head, dropping his hand from the trunk and exiting from the tree's shadow. He pushed his way through the crowd of students exiting the double doors of Anthropology, responding automatically to the greetings of some of his students. Taking the stairs to the basement, he unlocked his door and stepped inside, deliberately taking a deep breath to calm himself. But who knew if the man would even come?

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

At first he didn't even hear the door click open behind him, the music blocking everything out. But the draft that the door let in caught his attention, and he turned, finding Ellison eyeing him with a look that abruptly made him feel as if he'd just been sent to the principal's office. Nervousness suddenly swept over him, and he smiled at the man. This was it; it was now or never, and his dissertation rode in the balance.

Flickering beyond that surface thought, though, was a surge of energy that reminded him of what he'd felt in some of the sacred tribal rites he'd observed over the years or similar activities in his own life. It was an old feeling, very old…

He lost the thought as he took a breath, still moving to the music. Anticipation beat through him, echoes of excitement arming him for the encounter.

"Oh, hey, hey, notice how the war chant of the Yamamano headhunters finds its echoes in the cellars of Seattle." He gestured in rhythm, starting to stand. "But I'm sure your dad used to say that stuff all the time about the Stones. You know, 'hey, hey, turn that jungle music down, man.'"

Ellison looked at him. "Yeah, he did. So do I. You mind?"

Blair stopped moving, blinking out of the spell of the drums. _Oh, man, loud music, hurts his ears, of course, man!_

He turned the dial down, then off. "No, no–"

"Why are you in my face?"

Blair turned to look at him, focusing past the excitement. "Oh, hey, look, um, I'm really sorry about all that Shakespeare stuff at the hospital, but I just had to find some way to get you," he gestured at Ellison, "into my area here to talk."

The detective glanced around the room, then back at Blair. "So talk."

Blair swallowed. "Okay, okay, uh, here, please. Get you a seat here…" He glanced around the room, lifting a stack of books and papers out of a chair to clear it, dumping them on the floor and motioning Ellison forward. "Have a seat, man."

The detective sat down, tilted the chair slightly backward, and looked at Blair.

Under that impassive gaze, Blair swallowed. So much to say, so much to share, where to start. "You see, ah, there's this nurse I've been, uh, you know…" His lascivious gestures died at the hard look he received from the sentinel, and he paused, then continued, ". . . Tutoring at the Med Center, and uh, she saw your chart, uh, and she faxed it over to me and when I read it– Man, I was just like – bang! Holy Grail time!" He clapped his hands together, bouncing on his feet.

Ellison looked at him, then around the room, then back to Blair. "You're losing me, Chief."

Sandburg took a breath, focusing past the surging energy that threatened to run away from him. "Okay, hmm… My name's Blair Sandburg, and I'm working on a doctorate in anthropology, and you just may be the embodiment of my field of study." His lips parted and he grinned. "If I'm correct, Detective Ellison, you're a behavioral throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man." He laughed – pure excitement and nervousness running through him.

Ellison just sat, gazing at him. "Are you out of your mind?" He stood, moving toward the anthropologist. "You dragged me all the way over here to tell me I'm some sort of caveman?"

"Uh, maybe I was a little out of line with that caveman remark, but I mean–"

Ellison grabbed him, throwing him back against the wall, and Blair bit back a gasp as he felt his feet leave the ground.

"Listen, you neo-hippy, witchdoctor, punk," the detective growled, punctuating each word with a small shove against Blair's windpipe, "I could slap you up right now with larceny and false impersonation. And you're headin' real quick into harassing a police officer. And what's more? Your behavior has given me probable cause to shake this place top to bottom for narcotics."

"Yo, hey, Joe Friday, relax, okay?" He felt Ellison's fingers tighten slightly, and reached to touch him lightly on the chin. "Look, you mess with me, man, and you're _never_ gonna figure out what's up with you."

Ellison's eyes darkened, and he hesitated. Blair pushed his advantage. "Now I know about your time spent in Peru, and it has _got_ to be connected with what's happening to you now."

Ellison dropped him, and Blair took a breath, feeling the adrenaline high subside slightly as he walked over to a bookshelf. "Let me just show you something here."

He chose an open book and turned to show it to the sentinel. "This is a monograph by Sir Richard Burton – the explorer, not the actor," he added, repeating a line he often had to use with his first year students. "It's over a hundred years old."

He handed it to Ellison, watching him as the man took it with careful fingers. "Anyway," he said as the detective flipped cautiously through the pages, "the idea goes like this: In all tribal cultures, every village had what Burton named the sentinel. Now this was someone who patrolled the borders–"

Ellison glanced up, frowning. "You mean… a scout?"

Blair shook his head, caught up in the lecture. "No-no-no, more like a watchman. You see, this sentinel would watch for approaching enemies, change in the weather, uh, movement of game. Tribal survival depended on him."

The officer nodded, handing back the book with a caution that won him points in the anthropologist's mind.

"Yeah. What's this got to do with me?"

Blair looked at him intently, caught in the moment. "A sentinel is chosen because of a genetic advantage, a sensory awareness that can be developed beyond normal human's. These senses are honed by solitary time spent in the wild. At first Burton's monograph was disputed, and now it's basically forgotten. I mean, there are certain manifestations today of maybe one or two hyperactive senses like taste and smell – people who work for coffee, perfume companies, oh, and in Vietnam the army Long Range Recon units that had to–"

"Change their diet to fish and rice 'cause a Cong scout could smell a westerner by his waste," finished Ellison, a look of dawning realization on his face.

 

"Right, right, exactly," Blair said excitedly. "Now, I've got hundreds and hundreds of documented cases over here of one or two hyperactive senses, but not one single subject with all five." He patted the files next to him, then indicated Ellison with a gesture. "You could be the real thing."

Ellison shook his head slightly. "The truth is I– I don't remember much of anything about the jungle."

Blair abruptly felt like he was sharing his office with a very large, very hesitant cat, one that could swat him into next week if he wasn't careful. He cautiously stepped toward the officer. "A year and a half spent in the bush, the sole survivor of your unit… I mean, I'm no psychiatrist, but that sounds pretty damned traumatic to me, and trauma tends to get repressed."

"Okay," said Ellison uncertainly, wary trust in his glance, "let's say I-I buy this. Why is this coming back now?"

Blair spread his hands. "I don't know, but you need someone who understands your condition."

Ellison eyed him. "And what's the pay off?"

It was only half a question and Blair took a step toward him, eagerness rushing through him. _It's goin' to work!_

"My doctorate," he answered, exhilarated. "I want to write about you; you're my thesis!"

The rapport between them crashed into broken shards, and Ellison threw off Blair's heated grasp of his shoulders as if the touch burned his skin, turning to leave. "I've had enough."

Blair stepped after him, disappointment burning a cold path through him. "Well, just think about it, okay?" he said desperately. "Oh, wait, there's one more thing that I've gotta warn you about–"

The slam of the door at the end of the corridor cut him off, and he teetered in the doorway for a moment, caught between the need to rush after the man and the need to deal with the letdown of his unmistakable rejection. Disappointment won, and Blair pounded his fist against the door.

"Damn!"

 _Maybe he'll come back_ , whispered the dregs of his excitement, unwilling to admit defeat.

Blair paused, absently rubbing his sore fist. "Maybe," he said aloud. "But I don't think so. Still…" He frowned, thinking.

The zone-out factor. That was a very real danger, and he hadn't had the time to warn Ellison about it. And he really needed to know.

With Blair, to think was to act, and so the anthropologist headed after the officer. The nearest parking lot was across a street, and maybe he could catch the detective before he crossed it.

He pushed open the door and stepped out, his gaze immediately finding the sentinel, who was staring in fascination at a red Frisbee as it sailed across the lawn on the other side of the street.

"Ohhh, nooo!" groaned Blair as he took off. But it was a good seventy feet from his place at the doorway to the edge of the pavement, and by the time he'd reached it Ellison was already standing in the middle of the street, completely unaware of the garbage truck bearing down on him, unable to stop.

To Blair it was as if he, too, was on a runaway track, unable to stop. He saw the truck, and he saw the sentinel, and it was as if time was slowed, allowing him the heart-racing moment to reach Ellison and throw him down between the wheels of the garbage truck, and hold him as the bars slid over their heads.

And then the moment was over, and they slid back into space and time with an almost audible click, and the truck was past them, slowing, slowing, stopped, and the road was rough and hot under them, people staring as the two of them made their feet.

"Ahhh!" yelped Blair, shivering with the reaction. "Oh, that _really_ sucked, man!"

Energy flooded through him, fear and its aftermath of adrenaline rush, and he took deep breaths, totally aware of the moment, of breathing, of the afternoon sunlight warm on his shoulders, of Ellison, standing intimately close, dazed and stunned. And aware, too, of the depth of the connection that had slammed into him as he held the man, body to body, realizing with sudden clarity the responsibility that went with being the one who partnered the sentinel, and the life that was now his to guard.

 _A sentinel without a partner to guard his back and his life and his soul, dies. Or turns to evil_. The words of the Peruvian shaman he had visited some years ago roared through his mind, and he shuddered as Jim touched him, the cool wind of destiny stirring goosepimples down his back.

Behind him, he heard a wolf howl.

 

The End


End file.
